


The Queen Of My Heart

by The_Peridot_Writer



Category: The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-06 09:12:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12814329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Peridot_Writer/pseuds/The_Peridot_Writer
Summary: Claude Frollo prepares for Esmeralda's burning but finds himself unable to attempt such a feat, his heart protesting. (Rated M for sexual content).





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary: Claude Frollo prepares for Esmeralda's burning but finds himself unable to attempt such a feat, his heart protesting. (Rated T for sexual content).**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hunchback of Notre Dame or any of its plots and characters. This is simply for entertainment purposes. All rights belong to Disney and Victor Hugo.**

**Song: The Queen of My Heart by Jetlag Productions on The Hunchback of Notre Dame**

_Is she real?_

_This lovely girl who makes me feel this_

_As though I've taken wing and flown away_

_To another land where she will understand_

_The words of love I'm trying so hard to say_

Frollo sat at his desk in his office, muttering to himself as he ripped off his hat. Rubbing his face with his hands, he let out a scream of frustration. He had finally found the Court of Miracles, finally found where the gypsies had been hiding. After twenty years. He had her in his clutches. He had Esmeralda right where he wanted her. He had the gypsies. He had her and he was going to give her a choice.

He so desperately wanted her to choose him. He wanted her, yearned her… Loved her. He had fought the feeling, pushing it down as if it was her doing and it was though the feelings were fake.

The Minister knew otherwise at this point. He knew and hated but loved the fact. "This gypsy shall be the death of me," he whispered, growing annoyed as he let out a yell and with a swift movement, he threw all the contents of the desk noisily onto the stone floor.

The judge glared at the fireplace at the other side of the room, watching the flames. A feeling of deja vu consumed him. He could have sworn that he saw a figure moving and dancing gracefully, sinfully in the hearth.

Standing, Frollo went to inspect the flames. The smoke emitting from the flames surrounded him as he clenched his eyes shut, images flashing as he collapsed to his knees, holding himself, sweat rolling down from a combination of the sinful, lustful fantasies that seemed to occur seemingly from nowhere and the fireplace roaring, almost as if it was alive.

As he imagined the fantasies, he knew that there were only two ways to get rid of the thoughts, to finally get peace ever since he saw her at the Festival of Fools.

The way she danced, her body skillfully moving to the sound of the music, her dress that left little to the imagination clung to her, showing off every beautiful curve, every detail. It was utterly enthralling.

A crown had been placed on her beautiful raven hair. The hair he longed to dig his hands into, to feel how soft it was, how smooth, how gorgeous.

Her eyes, her stunning eyes shone brilliantly in the afternoon. They sparkled and he found his own eyes could not leave her. He had been in a trance. She had put him under it and he hadn't wanted to be pulled from it.

Frollo needed her dead or his. He needed the knowledge that she would never tempt him ever again or forever be there with him. In his arms, there to please him and only him. To love him, to say she loved him, that she loved him and only him, no one else. Especially not the sun god, Phoebus.

He had grown to despise that captain. Well, ex-captain. He didn't deserve someone as beautiful, as stunning as Esmeralda. No one deserved her. But yet, everyone wanted her, sending a wave of jealousy throughout his body at the vile thought. He needed her and he was absorbed in his thoughts, he had begun to realize that she could not die. His heart simply wouldn't allow it for it craved her. It craved everything she had to offer. Her body, her love, her everything.

He couldn't kill her. He didn't want to. He needed her in bed with him, for her to give herself to him. The fierce possessiveness started to form even brighter than before. It was ablaze in his soul, willing him to think unspeakable thoughts.

Claude Frollo needed to see her. He wanted to beg for her to be his. He wanted her love and he was about to do anything and everything to retain it.

Grasping his hat that laid on the ground, he headed hastily out of the room and down the steps to where she was being held.

As he descended down the stone steps, the cold air hit against him, causing a shiver to run through his body but the lustful thoughts added to the reaction. Passing each cell that held several gypsies each, he ignored the curses thrown at him. He was too focused on his desire to truly notice.

Towards the end of the hallway, a single cell was present. The cell had two guards present on either side. "You are excused," Frollo directed towards the two curtly. They gave him a swift nod before heading off.

Taking the key that hung from a single hook on the wall, he opened the cell door and entered. Shutting the iron door behind him, he turned around, gazing at the gypsy who laid deadly still on the ground, her arms wrapped around herself. Frollo kneeled down, looking at her in disgust but he felt far from that as he gazed at her beauty.

_Esmeralda, you are the queen of my heart_

_Esmeralda, I hope we'll never part_

_It was you_

_So beautiful, so kind_

_Are you real or only in my mind?_

Frollo noticed how still she was and only from the single torch in the cold, damp room did he catch sight of the blood that pooled around her, staining her white prison dress.

Not being able to help it, fear wrapped its cold and forbidding grip around the judge's heart as he placed his hand on her cheek, finding it to be freezing.

Turning her onto her back, he checked for that she was breathing and let out a small breath himself of relief when he saw the faint rise and fall of her chest, indicating that she was indeed alive. "Gypsy," he called out as he started to shake her, worry spreading over him like waves of fire, piercing his heart. "Get up," he commanded. "Gypsy!"

Pressing the back of his hand against her forehead, he felt the sweat that plastered her raven hair to her neck and forehead. "Esmeralda," he let out a weak whisper, worry and concern finally consuming him entirely. His heart started to beat painfully in his chest as he gathered the gypsy dancer in his arms.

Her head fell against his shoulder, her intoxicating scent forming forbidding images in his mind. 'Now's not the time for this,' he thought, shoving the sinful fantasies back deep into his mind.

Hurrying down the hallway of the dungeon with Esmeralda in his arms, he realized in the painful moments in which she could potentially be dying right in front of him that he couldn't live without her.

He wanted her death, wanted to never see her again. His desire would die with her. It would have been destroyed and would have left him like it never happened. It should have been that simple. That's what his mind told him. His heart suggested otherwise. Why was she so enchanting and why was he the one put underneath his spell?

Finally managing to make it towards his room, he carefully placed the gypsy down, moving a strand of raven hair away from her forehead. His hand lingered in her thick mane for a few moments longer. He couldn't dwell any longer as he headed out of his room, calling upon a servant.

A fair girl ran over, bowing politely. "Yes, master?"

"Go and fetch a doctor! Quickly! Make haste!" He demanded, his cruel, gray eyes darting between the servant that scurried off to the gypsy laying in his bed.

She had been bleeding but why? He had never commanded torture upon her. He never told the guards to do anything towards her. Noticing some blood coming from the side of the dancer's mouth, he ran his thumb over it, wiping it away. He stared at the red liquid on his finger before wiping it off on his robes. Even her blood had been so bright.

His gaze remained on her beautiful face before it ran down the length of her body as he attempted to find the wound. The thoughts sprung back up, burning viciously within him. "Why must you torture me so?... Esmeralda." The name rolled off his tongue easily. It was if it was there for only him to say. Such a gorgeous name for a stunning creature. "Esmeralda," he tried again, loving the taste of it, loving how it was so easily spoken.

He gathered her in his arms gently, carefully tearing away the cloth from her body. He was not going to fulfil his desires. At least, not yet. He had to know where the bleeding was coming from. Tossing the fabric aside, his eyes hungrily ran down her body, over her bronzed skin, her breasts and her toned stomach. There it was. The wound on her left side.

Moving her slightly, he inspected the wound even more, seeing how deep it was. His hand moved and pressed hard against it, trying to stop the flow. His steel eyes roamed down to her thigh which held the dagger. It had dry and crusted blood on it. Ripping it from her leg, he studied it.

Had she been the reason for the injury? He truly didn't wish to believe it. He honestly didn't but he had started to put the pieces to connect as he moved his gaze back to her face. Her eyes that stole his breath every time he looked at them were shut still. When she spoke, his voice was upset, sad and filled with guilt. "You would rather kill yourself than perish at my hand," he concluded.

The realization sank in much like a knife, destroying him as he thought about it. He never knew that she would have such a strong affection him. He knew how intense his emotions were towards her but now new feelings sprung. Much more than lust and sexual desire. Much more than needing her body and only her body.

He needed her love, her warmth, her kindness. Not the hatred that radiated in her stunning eyes when they fell upon the judge. He had saw the love obvious in her eyes when she looked at that dreaded Sun God, Phoebus and his adopted hunchback of a son, Quasimodo.

Frollo grabbed the dagger, ripping same fabric from the prison gown Esmeralda had on, tearing the cloth and pressing it against the wound. "Where is that blasted doctor?!" He hissed in anticipation, worry spiking tenfold as she seemingly grew colder by the moment. "Esmeralda, for the final time! Awaken!" It was not cruel, not angry but concerned.

For what felt like eternity, there was finally a knock on the door. "Enter," he called out in a frigid voice. The doctor walked inside, a small smile on his lips that disappeared entirely as he took in the scene. "But sir…" He recognized her. "She is a gypsy!" Surprised at the request as he headed closer. "Sir…" He started, "your hand."

Realizing what he referring to, he quickly took his hand away that was covered in the thick, red liquid. "Just help her!" He demanded cruelly, causing the doctor to quiver in fear.

"Y-yes. Of course," he nodded, grabbing several objects from a bag, ranging from needles to bandages and a dark liquid.

As the doctor was starting to get ready, Frollo felt some movement from the girl laying in front of him. Her hand was in his as he couldn't help but squeeze it to comfort her.

Watching her carefully, her emerald eyes finally opened. They swam with confusion and Claude couldn't help but feel the guilt spread into him at the fear that became more than evident. "Esmeralda," he tried, letting go of her dark hand as she abruptly backed away from the judge, practically trembling with fear at this point. "I'm not going to hurt," he started. "I promise."

Her gaze shifted to the doctor who started to approach. "Do not be worried," he addressed towards her, realizing she had regained consciousness. He helped her go on her right side and Frollo tilted her head up gently so she'd look at him. Once again, he took her hand in his, placing a hand on her cheek as the doctor began to work.

She shut her eyes tightly, hissing in pain at a sting of the liquid coming in contact with her wound. It slowly became numb but the pain still lingered and heightened tenfold as the doctor started to stitch up the wound. Frollo winced inwardly as she let out a scream of pain. It was expect but it tortured him more than he thought it would. Hearing her in pain put him in his own.

It seemed to go for hours but only several tortured filled minutes had passed until the young girl could not longer take it. Feeling the dancer fall limp against the bed, her head falling upon the pillow, he clutched her hand harder. "Hurry," he hissed, glaring daggers at the man.

"I am trying to, Minister," was the simple response back. "But it is a delicate procedure. I do not want to rush too much for I might disrupt something. Her injury is rather deep and hastening the process might make it worse."

Not fully hearing him, he kept his attention solely focused on the gypsy laying in front of him. Her face was contorted into one of discomfort even still in the sweet arms of unconsciousness.

Soon, much to Frollo's relief, the doctor ceased working. "There. That should do it," he smirked, backing away. "Don't let her move too much as not to disturb the bandages and keep her rested so she could regain her energy," he instructed, still more than perplexed as to why Frollo went through all this trouble if she was going to be burnt at the stake the next day. Maybe the judge wanted the satisfaction that she would die by his hands. Maybe he did care for her. Nonetheless, the doctor found himself not wanting to stick around to find out in case the Minister's foul mood would strike him down. Whatever the reason was, let him be.

Gathering up his supplies, he hastily left, not even asking for payment for he knew better. He would make up the pay in the next few jobs.

Still sitting, his gaze never once faltered from her beautiful face as he found himself wanting more than anything for her to wake up and him adorn her face and body with kisses, his hands ready to ravish her but he knew that she was far from being physically capable of that. He would have to wait. After all, he was a patient man.

But the in the meantime, he slowly got into bed with her, being mindful of her injury as he wrapped his arms around her slender frame, pulling the gypsy girl towards him, her head leaning against his chest.

He sighed contently as he thought about falling asleep every night with her just like that. He would never grow sick or tired of it. How could he? He had a goddess sleeping in his arms, curled up against him and he vowed to both himself and Esmeralda that it would stay that way.

_Is love real?_

_This feeling simply takes my breath away_

_As though the light of night or bright as day_

_I'm trying to believe but I'm so afraid you'll leave_

_Before you hear the words I'm trying to say_

The first thing that the gypsy dancer noticed when she came to were the strong arms wrapped around her protectively. The other was the scent of leather and wine. Her memory was foggy as her mind struggled to fully awake itself from sleep's warm embrace.

Finally, she managed to see who was holding her for the embrace was gentle and he made her feel safe. Was it Phoebus? No, he had been captured. Quasimodo? No, the figure was too slim. Realization started to dawn on her as she tried so desperately to push it away. 'Please tell me it isn't who I think it is,' she thought to herself.

"Ah, gypsy. You are awake. Good," he greeted her.

Esmeralda scrambled out of the bed, oblivious to her wound as she face flashed with that of pain. Letting out a yelp, she clutched her side, staggering back until she hit a wall, leaning against it. The room was pitch black and since Frollo had been awake the entire time, he sight had adjusted just fine while Esmeralda squinted to see.

As she held her side, she felt linen attached to her, a warm liquid sweeping through. It was sticky and since her memory had yet to fully come back, she was more than confused and startled by the pain and blood that came.

"Do not move, gypsy," he directed towards her, reaching his hands out for her. She shrank away from him, trying to say something but fear took over. She was weak, tired and she couldn't fight back even if she wanted or needed to.

She was at a disadvantage from the beginning due to Frollo being much stronger than he appeared. Now she was almost entirely helpless. Unless…. She went to grab the dagger she had attached to her inner thigh, feeling that it was gone. Shuttering at the very thought of being touched by a man like Claud made her even more petrified.

Hearing the footsteps approach but seeing nothing, she started to pull away from him, struggling weakly when he grabbed her arms.

The touch was surprising. It wasn't cruel, rough or harsh. No. It was gentle, soft… Comforting. How could such a horrendous man as Frollo make her feel safe? "Let go of me," she hissed, her breathing starting to grow ragged, unsteady.

"I'm not going to hurt you! Stay still!" Claude demanded but the frustration rising in his tone only made her want to struggle more.

Taking a sharp, hissing breath of pain, she felt herself stagger as agony erupted throughout her whole left side. The Minister wrapped his arms protectively around her as he picked her up, carrying her towards the bed. "Now look what you've done," he practically snarled but she said nothing. "Do you have a death wish?!" He demanded, gazing down at her.

Esmeralda hoped that he wouldn't see her as silent tears began to roll down her cheeks, her body trembling against his. "Why are you doing this?" She asked, just accepting the embrace she was in. "Why did you save me?"

"I couldn't let you die," he simply responded. It was the truth, however, not all of it.

"No. You couldn't have," she hissed. "You couldn't let me die? No? You have to be the one to kill me? Have to feel the satisfaction of ending my life by your hands? You couldn't let me have a death wish?" She snarled, her breathing growing even more erratic than before. "You sick bastard!" She yelled, fury burning wildly in her emerald green eyes. "You sick son of a-!" She refrained as she freely started to sob.

"You kill and torture my people… And yet you go after me filled with lust and sexual desires… Why? Why do you want to torture me so? What did some gypsies do to you that made you hate the whole lot of us? While you ask me why I choose you, you answer me why you choose me! I have done nothing to you, Frollo! I helped someone! I stuck for my people that you injured because one or maybe a couple did something! But guess what?! Not all gypsies are like you perceive, 'Minister'," she bit out. "Hell, barely any of them are! So just end your quarrel with me! Please!" She sobbed. "What did I do to make you hate me?! What did I do to make you despise me?!"

The judge stared at the girl in his arms, shocked by the speech as he set her down. "I don't hate you, Esmeralda. I love you!"

_Esmeralda, you are the queen of my heart_

_Esmeralda, I hope we'll never part_

_It was you_

_So beautiful, so kind_

_Are you real or only in my mind?_

"You… What?"

"I love you," he ground out. "As much as I desperately tried to shove the feelings down, burn them away, I can't help it! If I could, I wouldn't be going through all of this. I wouldn't have spent only Lord knows how many hours thinking about you. Your eyes, your hair, your voice. ANd the way you torture me when you dance! Yes, I was more than angered when you publicly humiliated me! You had teased me and now…" He chortled. "You torture me. You're bringing my soul to Satan himself but I no longer care. I want you and I need you, Esmeralda."

As her gaze finally adjusted to the darkness, she laughed in disbelief. "You were going to burn me at the stake!" She accused. "After, you were going to burn and kill the rest of my people! And you're just going to expect me to believe you when you say you love me?! You're delusional!" She hissed. "You're crazy, sick… Twisted and… You!" She slammed her fists weakly against his chest as he came closer, trapping her between him and the bed. "Get away from me…" She demanded, slowly getting off of the bed and pulling her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "You sick bastard… You sick son of a bitch," she snarled, defeat evident in her voice.

She didn't know what to do anymore… What to think. What to believe. It was all too much. Too much to take in. She became dizzy, disorientated as she tried to process the information. Watching as the blood rushed from her face, he hastily ran over, kneeling down in front of her and not caring that his cold exterior fell. His main concern was her well-being. Placing the back of his hand against her forehead, he felt a slight fever starting to form.

Grasping his arm in her firm yet weak grasp, she shoved him away, not comfortable with the contact. It was sickening, causing her stomach to turn as she swallowed back the fluids that were lodged in her throat from her stomach. "Stay away from me," she demanded, her voice dripping with poison and venom. "Don't you dare touch me. Just because I'm here give you no right to lay your hands on me."

Frollo felt anger and frustration flair deep inside of him from her stubbornness. "Pour l'amour de Maria" he sighed, exasperated. "You are burning with a fever!"

"And what does it matter, Minister?!" She hissed. "I'm going to burn at the stake tomorrow. Might as well just quicken the process, no? Help you with it so you don't have to wait that long for my death."

"I'm not going to burn you," he finally relented. "As much as I despise, I love you the same amount. As much as I want you dead, I need you alive. I…" He inwardly grimaced at the thought of her being reduced to nothing but ashes. The once beautiful gypsy becoming ugly, bland ashes was frightening, terrifying him more than he thought was possible.

"You… What?" She urged him to continue, utterly confused and worried as to what he was going to say next.

"I want you as much as I need you! You're not leaving, Esmeralda."

"You can't just keep me," she desperately tried to reason but it was a lost cause for she knew that he was mad. He wouldn't register anything sane. He was far from it. It was evident and scary. She braced herself as if he would lash out like had done other times. The man was unstable, bipolar. He had inner struggles that somehow found its way into the outside world, affecting his behavior drastically.

"How about a deal?" He started, his voice oddly calm. She knew that danger was apparent nearby, lurking behind his voice. It was only a matter of time until he snapped.

"A… Deal?" She inquired, confused on what he meant by that.

"Well, you knew what my intentions were towards your people after you died," he continued pleasantly. Esmeralda felt a shiver of dread course through her at the horrendous thought. "Your life in exchange of their freedom."

"What do you mean, my life in exchange of their freedom?"

"I mean you chose to stay with me," he said, walking over and running a finger on her jaw.

The gypsy dancer backed away in disgust. "Don't touch me," she stood rigid, her breathing becoming quick and unsteady once again.

"Think what you want to do. My dear. But at the strike of the next hour, you will have had to made your decision. Live with me and I let your people go. Refuse and you will die with them," he explained before nodding curtly and leaving without another word, locking the dancer in from the outside.

Pacing back and forth relentlessly, she kept her arms around her waist as she contemplated her decision. "Death or torture. Death or torture," she kept muttering to herself. She felt that she would have instantly chosen death but that included her people being slaughter, not just her. But death seemed much more welcoming, much more pleasant than living with the dread thing that dared to call himself a man of God. 'More like man of the Devil,' she sourly thought.

Nausea threatened to form again, the rising acids burning her throat and this time, she did not hold back. Lurching, she fell to her knees as they collided painfully with the wooden floor. She could have sworn that she broke them but she ignored it, the pain in her stomach far too great.

She released only water for she had not eaten since her last meal which was a day ago. Her stomach rolled and rumbled agonizingly, tears springing up in the green orbs of hers. "That bastard," she muttered tiredly as she leaned against the cold, dull brick of the fireplace. "That sick, twisted son of a fucking bitch…" Her eyes fell closed as she swallowed down the fluids, trying to surpass the nausea forming once more.

"Death or tortured," she sighed as she attempted to wrap her head around the events of the last couple of days. "Torture," she finally decided. She would have happily died but her people would follow. They didn't deserve that.

For over the course of twenty years, her people were being slaughtered. Sht didn't want it to continue. She would stay with him but only under two conditions. Collapsing under exhaustion, she curled up close to the fireplace, relishing the warmth from the bitter cold from outside.

It felt nice since she was so accustomed to bundling up in the streets with her goat, Djali, desperately trying to keep warm or running from the guards. Even when she went home to the Court of Miracles, it was still considerably frigid.

Her bare arms were lined with goosebumps, the thin material doing little to keep her warm. She shivered against the stone wall, her mind and thoughts fuzzy from the stress. If she continued like this, she would most likely pass out from a headache.

The sickness finally subsiding from her stomach gave her temporary relief. It was, however, short lived for a striking pain erupted near her temple, dealing indescribable amounts of pain. Holding her head, she doubled over.

She was barely aware of the door opening and a dark figure kneeling down to her and placing two fingers underneath her chin and lifting it so she'd look at him.

The gypsy's eyes remained closed as her face contorted into one of pure agony. Her head throbbed mercilessly and beyond her control, tears sprung within the two striking eyes, the warm liquid flowing down quietly as her body shook with silent sobs. "Why?" Was all she asked. She sucked in a deep breath. "Why?" Her voice shattered as it broke along with Frollo's heart. He kept a cold and collected exterior however, determined not to let any emotion slip through his facade. He had done it before and he couldn't let it happen again.

"Have you made your decision?" Was all he demanded. She glared at him. Apparently that was the only crucial thing at the moment. Nothing actually concerning her health. Only what he desired. It was infuriating, only supporting her opinion of him even more. He was cruel, selfish and crazy. And yet he perceived himself as a man of God. Esmeralda still had much difficulty wrapping her mind around that. He was truly disturbed and she couldn't help but be mortified by him.

The sash that was attached to his hat flowed down his back, swaying as he stood, glaring her down with his unfeeling granite eyes. "Yes," she finally answered, "I've made my decision. I'll stay with you."

Esmeralda watched as his expression shifted, seeing genuine happiness and relief? Was that the word for it? His cold mask slipped back on within a second as he appeared normal again.

'I'll stay with you under two conditions. You release everyone. All of my people including Phoebus and Quasimodo. And…" She took in a deep breath. "And under the condition that you do not harm my people. They are to be treated as any other citizen in Paris. Understood? I promise to stay but if you back down on your promise, I will go back on mine. So…" She sighed. "Is it a deal?"

_I never thought that love would come to me_

_Imprisoned in this body_

_My heart longs to be free_

_Could it back she holds the key?_

Frollo was taken aback by her demands even though he refused to show the effect she truly had on him by demanding such a thing. 'And without fear,' he added to himself. Her fiery spirit and determination was what he admired about her. What he fell in love with. Well, that and her body.

"Do we have a deal?" She asked again, her voice sharper than before.

Twenty years. Twenty years of trying to find the gypsy's cavern, the Court of Miracles. He had finally discovered it and he was about to kill every single damned gypsy that set foot in Paris but he had to give it up if he wanted her. It was tempting to say no, to kill the dancer where she stood. Surely she would be an easy kill by how weak she was. But he could barely find himself to even think about it, nonetheless, follow through with it.

"Deal. You drive a hard bargain, my dear, but it was a deal nonetheless," he nodded. "You will be expected to remain in my quarters as I release everyone. Do not even begin to think of escape or I will kill everyone. Everyone of those dread demons of Satan," he threatened.

"Wait," Esmeralda stopped him. Fear clutched his heart at the thought of her going back and saying she would rather die. "Do not touch me without my consent. Do not try anything for it will not be pleasant for any of us. Understood?" She hissed.

"Of course," he nodded, a scowl forming upon his lips. "Now… If you'd excuse me…" He excused himself and left without another word.

Two guards entered and grabbed her arms, leading her to the room. She couldn't leave if she wanted to, still weak. They practically dragged her towards his chambers and Esmeralda didn't struggle. She was only doing it so her people would be free and unharmed. They shoved her into the room and she stumbled, the door slamming shut and causing her to jolt slightly in surprise. She heard the door click and groaned as she held her head in her hands. She was starting to regret her decision, dread growing in her stomach as she felt sick all over again.

She slowly slid down the wall, trying to think what the future would bring. She desperately hoped that Frollo wouldn't live too long. The thought of living most of her life with him wasn't something particularly pleasant to her.

A half hour had passed before Esmeralda heard the door click, indicating someone was unlocking it. She was half in and half out of consciousness, the events of the day crashing down upon her and wearing her down physically, mentally, and emotionally.

"Esmeralda," was a familiar voice that rang clear in her head. She felt strong arms lift her, the cold, thin hands causing a shiver to run through her. Not being able to help it entirely, she rested her head against velvet.

'Him,' she thought sourly. She was too tired to say anything as she was placed on the bed, the Minister getting in with her and wrapping his arms around her waist as he closed the space between them.

"I freed the gypsies. As well as Quasimodo and…." He snarled in disgust at the next name. "Phoebus."

Esmeralda felt herself relax at the new information, letting out on exhausted, "thank you" before drifting into sleep.

Claude smiled contently, loving having her in his arms. He couldn't be happier. He had her in his arms. "At last," he sighed. "At last you are mine." He thought about the future for them and he couldn't help the hope rising in his chest. "Vous avez volé mon coeur. Vous en êtes propriétaire… Esmeralda… Mon amour… Mon coeur… Mon âme... " He felt sleep starting to come to him easily for the first time in so long all because of the girl in his arms. "Je vous donne mon coeur pour toujours."

_Esmeralda, you are the queen of my heart_

_Esmeralda, I hope we'll never part_

_It was you_

_So beautiful, so kind_

_Are you real or only in my mind?_

**To Be Continued?**

**A/N: Let me know how you enjoyed this oneshot and let me know if you want this story to be continued. Thank you for reading!**


	2. Prisoners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to, "The Queen of My Heart", Frollo tries to make Esmeralda love him as much as he loves her while Clopin figure away to bring her back and get rid of Frollo once and for all. (Rated M for sexual situations and abuse.)

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunchback of Notre Dame or any of its characters and plots. This is simply for entertainment purposes. All rights belong to Disney and Victor Hugo.

Clopin paced back and forth in his cell, muttering angrily. He was entirely distracted in his thoughts, not noticing the guards keeping watch nor the other gypsies in the cell with him.

The Gypsy King couldn't help the dread piling up within the pit of his stomach over the thought of what Frollo could be doing to Esmeralda. He had watched as the judge took the girl who was basically his sister. The one he raised and loved throughout the years.

He had found the young girl when she was only an infant, barely a year old when he took her in. She scared him, loved him, annoyed him but she was exactly like a sister. Annoying at times, protective at others and he loved her to pieces.

Not knowing exactly how long he had been pacing for, he felt a hand on his shoulder, a gypsy telling him to calm down. Not entirely being able to help it, his anger exploded. "Calm down?! How am I supposed to calm down?!" He was usually so nonchalant and relaxed but when it came to Esmeralda, his true feelings showed. "He has her! A mad man has her! And you expect me to calm down?! Have you gone mad along with him? We don't know what he's doing to her! He goes into her cell and comes out. She's hurt."

"C-clopin?" Came in a small, meek voice. His anger immediately disintegrated as he looked down at the young girl, only around five. She reminded him so much of Esmeralda when she was younger. "Is… Is she going to be okay?"

The Gypsy King kneeled down in front of the girl. "I don't know, tout-petite. I don't know," he answered honestly. He placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, looking into her big brown eyes, sadness evident in his own.

Sounds of heavy footsteps permeated through the silent atmosphere, coming closer to the cell doors and opening them. Gypsies walked out in groups, happy to be free but solemn for the loss of their princess was saddening them all.

Clopin glared up at Frollo as he unlocked the door himself. "Where is Esmeralda?" was all he asked.

"She is unharmed and in my care. Do not worry," he sneered.

"If she is in your care, I highly doubt she is unharmed. Your very presence and sight of you hurts every sense."

"Mind your tongue, gypsy or I will kill you."

"And how will Esmeralda react?" He raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming.

Frollo had to refrain from slamming the Gypsy King into a wall and strangling him himself for his arrogance. Oh, it was so tempting but he made a promise and he didn't intend or breaking it over the fear of losing Esmeralda after finally having her. "Just get out of my sight," he spat at the Gypsy King, not in mood for such nonsense. "I have to given you your freedom, you and your people so leave before I change my mind for then I will not be as merciful."

Not being able to help himself, Clopin let out a laugh. "Merciful? Merciful?! You see yourself as merciful? No, no. We are merciful. Esmeralda is merciful. After years of killing our kind, we get a chance for revenge and we don't take it. I have a chance on killing you now, mon ministre, but alas, I cannot betray my Esme for stooping down to your level.

"You are not merciful and on behalf of Esmeralda, I shall say this bluntly," he continued casually, as if talking to an old friend. "Touch her without her permission, kiss her, harm… Rape her. Go on. Do all of that but know this. You can do whatever you please but there will be consequences. If you do anything to her that displeases her… Any little thing that could bring a tear to her eye or a ping of fear to her heart and I will personally see to it that you will be sentenced to the worst torture known to man… That you will be punished and nothing on this Earth, not even your God can protect you. Move carefully, mon ministre. One wrong move and you will face the wrath of the whole Court of Miracles. Compris?"

It was the way Clopin said it that sent fear rushing through him with icy waves. It was so clear how protective the gypsies were with Esmeralda. However, he kept a cold exterior, not letting his stoic facade drop. "Just get out," he said simply.

Clopin glared at him. "Do. Not. Touch. Her," was the final word before he left with the rest of the gypsies.

All of them headed over to the Court of Miracles, some chattering but most remained silent. Clopin was quiet the whole way home. Entering the Court, he headed towards his tent, glancing at the one next to his. Esmeralda's.

Not being able to help himself, he entered it, looking down at the small bed. Noticing a lump underneath the shaggy blankets, he lifted it and an angry bleat was thrown at him. Djali stepped once he saw it was Clopin. However, he let out a huff, sitting down and going under the blankets once more. It was more than obvious. He wanted his owner.

"Djali," Clopin sighed, taking the small goat in his arms he considered a demon. He chuckled, thinking back to when Esmeralda had gotten the goat. She had been seven when she came into his tent with the goat in a bundle of blankets. At first, the Gypsy King had thought it was a baby she was holding until he heard a bleat.

She had asked to keep him and her emerald eyes had grown with hope. Clopin had instantly melted. Who was he to say no to that child? But he had immediately regretted agreeing to her. Djali was an absolute nightmare. He ate anything and everything he could fit into his mouth, including his beloved puppets at times. He managed to save them all from a terrible fate.

Clopin had finally had enough of the demon goat and had let it out of the Court of Miracles and the now nine-year-old Esmeralda had been completely devastated, not to mention, more than angry with Clopin once she found out that he had been the one to commit such an awful crime.

She had left behind his back, scaring him out of his wits. He had found her days later, finding her curled up in an alleyway, Djali cuddled up next to her. She had gotten a fever after since it had been the dead of winter. As he nursed her back to health, Djali had never once left her side.

Clopin laid down in the tent, holding the goat to him, needing some comfort. He could go and get drunk but it wouldn't help Esmeralda. No, he needed to actually do something than just drink. She could be in danger. Frollo could be doing unspeakable things to her and he wasn't about to let that happen.

If he wanted her back, he was going to have to get all the help he could. In the meantime, he was trying to process that day's events.

The two idiots, Phoebus and Quasimodo had came to warn them about Frollo only for them to lead the damn guards there. If only he had been a couple of seconds faster, he would have gotten rid of them, but instead, Esmeralda had to interfere.

Her kindness and selflessness will be her downfall if it wasn't already. Clopin sighed. "Why, Esme? Look after yourself for once. Not other people," he growled to himself, upset. No, not upset. Angry, frustrated, and livid. Livid beyond belief.

Djali bleated, struggling in Clopin's arms, spotting something. "What the Devil do you want?" Clopin asked, agitated. He let go of him, watching as he dug underneath the blankets, jingles emitting through the air. The pet came out, a tambourine in his mouth. Her tambourine. He sighed, taking the instrument in his gloved hands. He bleated, his eyes begging for Clopin to bring her back.

"I'll do everything I can, Djali," he promised the very animal he despised. However, the one he hated more had Esmeralda. He would just have to tolerate him at the moment or until she was back and safe. "I'll get her back," he sighed and laid down, falling asleep.

"Clopin! Clopin!" The Gypsy King turned around, watching as a tiny Esmeralda ran over, holding out her arms for her brother like figure.

"Ma chérie! What's wrong?" He asked, kneeling down and gathering the ten-year-old in his arms. The girl was trembling and he noticed several bruises along her arms and face. He traced a deep cut gently, looking at the blood bright against his dark glove. "Who did this?" He asked, starting to grow angry.

"The… Villagers," she responded. "I had w-went past a bar and two men came out… They cornered me… And… And…" She couldn't continue and Clopin's eyes widened.

"Did they…?" Fear was evident in his eyes.

"N-no. I got away. I threw a rock at them."

A small, proud smile formed. "That's my Esme," he whispered. "You can't go out late anymore, Esme. You can't. You're going to get hurt… What could have happened today might and you could get killed. Please. Promise me, chérie. Promise me," he begged, concern more than obvious.

"I promise," she whispered.

"Ma chérie, you should just stay in the Court of Miracles," he suggested but he somehow already knew the answer to that.

"No!" She yelled, looking horrified at the very thought, bringing a smile to Clopin's face. There was the Esmeralda he knew and loved.

"Make sure you're around people you can trust and if you're gonna leave the Court of Miracles late, I'm coming with you or someone else. Got it?" He said sternly.

"Yes, Clopin," she whispered softly and looked down sadly. His heart broke slightly at the sight.

"Cheer up, chérie," he smiled, taking out his puppet.

"Our little Esme isn't supposed to be sad," he squeaked. Her emerald orbs rose, looking at the puppet. Normally, she would have laughed and hugged Clopin. Well, she did hug him but she burst into tears. She cried into his shoulder and he was taken back even more.

No, she wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to cheer up, laugh, hug him and be herself. What did they do to her? If he saw any of them, he would kill them at the spot. They didn't even deserve the release of death. No, they deserved much worse.

He picked her up as she clung to him and as he set her down in her bed, he was about to leave until she let out a scream of terror. "Clopin! Don't leave! Please!" She begged him, her eyes widening in unseen fear. "Don't go."

"No one's going to hurt you," he started, sitting in front of her.

"No!" she retorted. "No…" Her voice cracked as she stared down at the colorful blankets on the ground. "No…"

He couldn't leave her like that, so he kneeled down in front of her, laying down and pulling her close, wrapping her up in a warm blanket. "I'll keep you safe, Esme," he whispered. "We both will." He handed her the puppet and she took it, holding it to her chest as she started to fall asleep.

"Don't leave," were the final words she muttered before drifting off to sleep.

"I will never leave. Even when I'm dead, I'll haunt you," he teased softly. "You'll never get rid of me. Not even in death. You are everything to me, Esme and nothing in Hell, or on Earth, anywhere will separate me from you."

He held her the whole night, soothing her for she had woken up crying several times, probably from nightmares but she refused to talk about it.

The days that followed were nerve wracking, strange. Esmeralda was quiet, unwilling to do anything. All she did was stay in her tent and she refused to leave to go anywhere, including to eat so Clopin had to bring food to her.

She had grown sick, tired, even paranoid. She wasn't comforted by anything anymore. Not even her bigger brother and his puppets. Not even Djali.

Clopin had been out one night, searching for food when he stopped at a bar, hearing two men talking. Quickly hiding behind a wall, he overheard them say something about a girl.

"Only about the age of ten. My idiot brother and his friend were drunk." one gruffly muttered to the other. Clopin leaned in, desparate to hear more.

"Did they do anything?" The friend asked.

"No. He kept saying that she got away from hitting them with a rock."

His suspicions were confirmed as Clopin rounded the corner. "Just what I needed to hear," the Gypsy King said darkly. "Bring me to your brother," he directed to the bigger man.

The two looked at him as if he was mad. "And his friend," he added.

"Your death wish." the man muttered simply, and started to lead him.

Clopin nodded over his shoulder where several gypsies were hiding. They quietly followed and they arrived at a small house where the two men were drinking. They worked fast, tying the two up.

"Esme!" He entered the tent, shaking the ten-year-old awake. "Wake up, ma chérie!"

She groaned softly, standing up and heading outside of the tent with him. Clopin brought to where they hung people. Her eyes widened as she stared at the men, Djali bleating and staying close to her. "C-clopin," she whispered, backing away even more.

"They are going to be hung," he said to her. "They won't be able to hurt you anymore, Esme," he promised. Staring at the two men, Esmeralda stopped.

"Don't kill them," she whispered.

The gypsies looked at her, confused. "What do you mean, don't kill them?" A man around Clopin's age asked.

"Don't kill them."

"But it's so you'll leave the Court of Miracles. Were you not leaving because you were afraid?" Clopin asked.

"Yes, I was afraid. I still am but…" She met eyes with the two men. "They learned their lesson. Just give them a second chance and if they do the same thing again then you can kill them. But just always give people two chances," she explained. "Please, let them go."

Everyone stared at the young girl in shock before sighing and untying the men. They led them out and Clopin went on his knees in front of Esmeralda before pulling her into a tight embrace without saying a word. His heart filled with pride at her bravery. He backed away, staring into her eyes as he ran his hand in her hair. "Ma chérie, please, if they do it again, immediately tell me. Understood?"

"I understand," she answered back, nodding. Clopin hugged her once again and she returned embrace happily, stopping as Djali for her attention.

XXXXX

Frollo entered the bedroom where Esmeralda slept. He wouldn't consider it a peaceful sleep either. Even in unconsciousness, she seemed troubled. "The fever," he muttered under his breath, suddenly remembering that and the wound. By that time, the blood must have swept through her bandages.

Carefully, he took off the blankets slowly so he wouldn't wake her. He re-bandaged the wound, looking at the stained blood red dress. She was going to have to change. He'd get a dress for her tomorrow.

Taking the dress off, he placed the blanket on her quickly and laying her head back down on the pillow, he threw the now stained cloth into a corner. He would dispose of it the next day.

As he stared at her face, feelings started to form. The beautiful features of hers brought fantasies, ones that were so much more worse than before but if he were to fulfill them, he would have to wait. Knowing he wouldn't be able to control himself, he blow out the candle and quickly exited the chambers, locking the door from the outside just in case she woke up and got any ideas.

The night was restless for the judge. Visions and images formed in his head almost as soon as his head made contact with the pillows. He took in a deep breath, closing his eyes. He had rested peacefully before but now, he was by himself.

"Claude…" A voice rang out in his head. "Claude. Please… Take me," the husky voice begged.

Sweat started to form on his forehead, rolling down his face and neck. Visions of her body swam in his head. Images of the dance at the Feast of Fools only about a week ago still lingered. How she smiled at him, wrapping the shawl around his neck, pulling him close to her and kissing his nose. The kiss, he could still feel it. It left him wanting so much more.

"Claude!" Esmeralda's voice practically yelled. "Claude! Now! I want you now!" She shierked in pleasure suddenly. A gasp escaped Frollo's lips. Starting to breathe heavily, he stared into the darkness.

Finding it swiftly becoming much too hot, he ripped off his usual clothes, keeping in him a loose fitting white blouse and black trousers. A feeling of his trousers becoming tighter made him want to go and get rid of the growing pressure in between his legs.

"Now," the breathless plea filled his mind. "Now! Claude! I need you!" The minister groaned softly, his hands unconsciously moving down, stopping right before the fabric of his pants.

He saw her laying under him, her face contorted with pleasure, swear plastering her raven hair to the sides of her face, creating a dark outline around her. The pressure grew more, Frollo's fingers going underneath the trousers.

Each gasp that escaped her lips made him more aroused until he was fully erect. His cold fingers wrapped around the organ, holding it. He felt her skin, how soft it would be underneath his fingertips. How her chest rose and fell with each breath, her breasts brushing against his chest, her nipples touching him ever so slightly but he was aware.

His fingers dug into her silk hair, moving through it as it slid between the digits so easily. Movements slowly became faster underneath Claude's pants, his manhood throbbing beneath his hand.

He trailed his hands over to the face, tracing every detail, feeling the curve of her cheeks bones, the softness of her lips, the structure of her small nose in which he rubbed his over hers. He placed a kiss on it before moving down, a gentle peck on her lips and she responded eagerly, deepening it ten-fold.

A loud knock on the door rudely interrupted him. "Minister?" Came a quiet voice from outside.

Frollo hastily gathered his velvet robe and shirt, throwing them both on, anger rolling through him in waves. He was nowhere near the mood to talk to anyone. What the Hell was a maid doing up that late anyway?

He stopped as the bells rang six times and had noticed that the first rays of the morning sun shone in the room, casting a warm glow against the cold walls. How was it morning? He didn't even remember falling asleep.

Angrily, he wrenched the door open , glowing at the middle-aged woman. "What? He bit out, his granite eyes blazing into her brown ones.

"T-the girl is awake," the maid whispered out.

Clearing his throat, he regained his posture. "How is she fairing?" He asked in a cold, yet calm voice.

"Disoriented… And… Scared," she murmured, trembling slightly.

He nodded, expecting her to be that way. Over what had just recently happened, he reckoned she would be scared. The fever would have added to the disorientation, he had no doubt about that.

Frollo had an hour to check on her. He wouldn't need longer or so he suspected. He would have to start his duties his duties for the day after. An hour would be sufficient for breakfast as well for he was already dressed.

He dismissed the maid who hurriedly scurried off. Good. Making his way to his chambers in which she was in, he unlocked the door. He was greeted by the gypsy curled into a tight ball. She was trembling and he noticed her caramel skin still considerably pale. The sheets were pulled close to her.

Keeping a cold demeanor, he approached her. "I trust you slept well," his tone inhospitable and aloof. Her emerald eyes snapped open and she became even smaller, her silk, raven hair covering her face with the movement. He noticed a slight wetness on her cheeks. She had been crying. Even now, he spotted tears swimming in her eyes.

He waited for an answer to his question and yet, recieved none. He started to head closer to which she backed away. He ignored her slight protests as he placed a hand on her forehead, feeling that the fever broke slightly. "Good," he muttered.

The Minister saw her unconsciously shiver against his touch. Two more tears fell and he tenderly wiped them away, his heart aching at the sight of her. Why must she be afraid of him? Oh, right. He let out a bitter laugh as he remembered and the dancer froze entirely.

They remained silent, the only sounds were their breathing and the sheets shuffling as he sat down on the bed next to her, starting to take off her covers. She instinctively pulled them closer to her body. Realization spread over him. She was disrobed and the blood from her injury on her left side, she might have thought something happened.

"I did not do anything whilst you were asleep," he assured her, "you are injured. I only stripped you to change your bandage. I will fetch you a dress by dinner," he pronounced. "Now let me take care of your wound." He started to take the covers off once again, relieved that she didn't resist. Struggling would only worsen the injury.

The covers fell as Esmeralda laid on her right side. Blood was there but not nearly to the extent as before. 'The wound is closing,' he thought to himself, pleased. Perhaps he wouldn't have to wait as long as he presumed to get what he truly desired.

He unwrapped it, grimacing slightly as he observed it. "Stay right here," he commanded as he stood and exited. He was bound to have something to help heal it faster.

Esmeralda watched him leave, groaning as she moved, shots of pain running up her side and exploding throughout her body. She clenched her eyes shut once again, shuttering. He had touched her, stripped her and Lord knows what else. She didn't dare even begin to think of the possibilities. Why should she? It would only make her sicker than what she already was. The very scent of him wanted her to literally scrub off her skin to get it off of her entirely.

The very thought terrified her, however, was that she was at his mercy. She doubted if she could truly fight him off if she needed to. The repulsive thought of him touching her caused her to tremble in spite of herself. She was in his home, his bed. The bed that belonged to the enemy which brought up another question to the already terribly long list. Why had he saved her?

No, she knew the answer to that. He loved her, that was why he didn't let her die. Esmeralda scoffed softly at the illogical thought. Him? Love? Those two things did not agree. Maybe whatever sick, twisted ting he felt for her was what he considered love. She didn't know but whatever he convinced himself was not love.

The door opened, pulling the Romani girl back to the real world from her thoughts. The judge approached, holding two vials in his hand. One was in a red glass bottle, another in a purple one. They had labels but it was foreign to her for she knew not how to read.

As he inched closer, she once more couldn't help the dread forming at the very pit of her stomach. "Do not fret," his dark voice assaulted her hearing, "one is to help numb the wound and the other is to simply heal it faster."

Now she knew he was up to something. Why else would he be attempting to relieve her pain? He had seemed so set on seeing her dead. He was mad, crazy so why was he trying to help out of all things? Had he finally reached his breaking point and gone entirely mad? Yes, that must be it. Nothing else would have made sense at this point.

Esmeralda heard the cork being pulled out of the bottle. She had her eyes closed, too afraid to look at her captor. Whatever he planned to do, good or bad, still abashed her all the same. She wouldn't let her guard down for one second. Why would she? He had literally burned Paris down to find her, threatened her people and now keeping her a prisoner. She despised the very thought of trusting him, even if it were just slightly. He wasn't sane and she doubted he ever would be. He was too far down that road to turn around and change. Even if he did, he would have to do it himself. She would be damned to help him.

There was a stinging pain in the laceration that spread quickly throughout her body. She drew in a sharp breath, starting to tremble as he opened the other flask. Her wound became numb suddenly, surprising her. He actually was trying to help. Yet, she still could barely believe it. What was he playing at? Whatever it was, she wouldn't fall in the trap. "Breathe this in," he lifted the bottle under the gypsy's nose.

She eyed him dubiously, holding her breath before she finally obliged, taking a whiff. Her stomach churned as she paled, dizziness taking over. 'What did he give me?' she thought, fear falling over her as she believed he had poisoned her. She wouldn't be surprised if he did.

She felt her whole body become numb. She was no longer in control, entirely disconnected but she saw and heard, nothing more. Her sense of taste, touch, and smell disappeared completely. The gypsy queen watched tiredly as he soaked a cloth with the liquid, tenderly placing the material on her wound. A dull pain erupted but was gone as fast as it came.

Her breath came out slowly, her chest rising and falling easily as unconsciousness started to take over, her eyes falling closed. She felt his presence, fet his stare, knowing he was watching every movement. She let out a soft sigh before embracing sleep entirely. She relaxed against the pillows.

Frollo smirked as she slackened, letting sleep overtake her without a fight. He carefully dabbed the wound, wiping away any excess blood that may have escaped. He sighed as he finished, running his thin fingers against her bronzed skin. "My gypsy," he muttered, his fingertips tingling from the contact. His breath hitched as his eyes roamed down her flawless skin. He stopped at her toned stomach, slowly placing his hand against it. It was warm against him, slowly rising and falling.

His fingers cautiously moved over the injury. He bandaged it and let out a breath. He would have to leave her at the moment even though he didn't want to. She needed a couple of clothes and at the moment, the covers weren't doing anything. They were rather thin and he could see the goosebumps lined along her sunkissed skin. The covers were down to her waist and even as he pulled them up, they did very little to warm her up.

The bells rang out, revealing that it was seven and he needed to start his duties anyways. He instructed the maids to check on her periodically. He would bring her food at noon. She would be awake at that time. He placed a kiss on her forehead before leaving.

The day was longer than normal, tedious. For once in his life, he wasn't looking forward towards the torturing of another criminal to get information. All he thought about was the gypsy laying in his bed.

Sitting at his desk, he absentmindedly signed documents. Sighing heavily, he finally decided he could not wait another moment. As if God heard him, the bells struck twelve times. 'Noon. Finally,' he thought, relieved. He quickly gathered the papers, putting them in a neat pile and leaving his office. It wasn't too far from the chambers.

Opening the door, his heart dropped to see her still asleep. Nevertheless, he walked in, a tray of food in one hand. He placed it on a table next to the bed. He noticed three plan dresses on a chair. One was a night dress, one casual and one for special occasions.

He finally approached her, resting a hand on her cheek. Her fever had diminished entirely and an abundance of relief crashed over him in waves. He no longer had to worry about that. Now he turned his attention to the gash on her side. The blood had stopped, pleasing him.

A small groan escaped Esmeralda's now parted blood red lips, catching Frollo's attention. "Esmeralda," he whispered out. Her eyelids fluttered slightly and he caught a glimpse of her stunning emerald eyes. They opened entirely after a couple of minutes. He stared into her bright orbs with his own dark ones. She shuttered at how intense his stare was, a wave of uneasiness flowing through her.

Sensing her uncomfortableness, he retreated, pulling up a chair and sitting next to the bed in it. "How do you feel?" He casually asked.

She hesitated before answering curtly, "fine." However, both knew that it was rather far from the truth. She was exhausted and an obscure pain lingered still, most gone however but still noticeable. Esmeralda halted before starting to ask something. "Where's Quasimodo?" She inquired softly. "Where's Phoebus?"

Frollo felt only a pang of jealousy hit him when she wondered about the hunchback, however, it convulsed to a level he didn't know existed at the very despicable name of the Sun God. His granite eyes glazed over with fury as his cold voice rumbled, "you will not bring up his name in this household, do you understand?"

The gypsy did not respond and so, he wrapped his fingers around her arms tightly, roughly yanking her up. She hissed in pain as the sudden movement disrupted the injury. However, Frollo seemed to be absorbed with what he wanted to observe or care about that at the moment. He gave her an abrupt shake, his tone bitter and cutting like ice. "Do you understand?!" He yelled, starting to let some of his sanity slip.

Even though fear ran through her, the desire to know was much stronger. "Where are they?" She bit out.

A cruel snarl formed on his lips. "If you must know, Quasimodo is in the bell tower, unharmed. Your 'Sun God'," he angrily snarled the words, "has been stripped to nothing. He does not even own the title of a mere foot soldier. He is to marry next month to a rich noble woman. Fleur-De-Lys so he can maintain his status." His grip did not loosen but seemed to grow tighter and it was only when a sharp cry of pain escape her lips, did he let go, knowing well that there would be bruises after. Some guilt formed but he knew better than to apologize.

As soon as the chance was present, she automatically ripped away from his grip, trembling even more now. She ran her fingers over the now bruised area, glaring daggers at the man who shook her to her very core. "Another question," she managed to mutter, catching Frollo's attention. "Why? Why did you choose me? Out of all the people, of all the gypsies to love…. Why was it me?"

"I already told you the answer to that," he gruffly answered, his eyes narrowing as he studied the young girl.

"No, you didn't. All you told me was that you loved me. And that you despise me just as much but never have you given me a solid explanation, Minister," she hissed out the title, "as to why you choose me to be your captive. Your prisoner."

"I told you what you've done to me, what you're still doing to me. You called me sick. You refused to listen to my whole explanation." Anger swam in his cold, granite eyes. "Eat," he said, changing the subject, trying to control his enmity towards the gypsy. The feeling mingled in with his lust and love for the girl and at the moment, it was devouring them all, taking over entirely.

He tried to calm himself but found it growing more difficult each passing moment. Every single time the gypsy refused him, he felt another wave of anger pass through him. He stood after a couple of more tries, giving up. She would eat eventually. He highly doubted it if she would starve herself. Then again, she almost did succeed in committing suicide. If she did try to starve herself, he would find a way in feeding her. He wouldn't let her die, not matter how annoyed he got with her.

He grabbed the plain, white nightgown, handing it to her. "Eat," he said for a final time, his voice displaying defeat, in one form or another before he turned and left, closing and locking the door behind him.

Esmeralda's stomach rumbled but she was used to the feeling of hunger. She hastily dressed herself, trying to avoid her wound as she laid back down on the bed, closing her eyes. Her mind wandered to Clopin, her family and how they were fairing. At the moment, Clopin was making a plan, Esmeralda worrying, and Frollo hoping. But they had one thing in common. They were all prisoners.


	3. Prisoners: Part 2

**Why Was It Me?**

**Chapter 2: Prisoners: Part 2**

**Summary: Sequel to “The Queen of my Heart”, Frollo tries to make Esmeralda love him as much as he loves her while Clopin figures a way to bring her back and get rid of Frollo once and for all. (Rated M for sexual situations and abuse.)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunchback of Notre-Dame or any of its characters and plots. This is simply for entertainment purposes. All rights belong to Disney and Victor Hugo.**

_“Not today, chérie,” Clopin whispered to the small girl that was tugging on his purple pants._

_“Pleeeaaseee, Clopin? Please? Just today!” The four year old begged, tugging more. “Please?” She eventually whispered._

_The Gypsy King groaned more to himself than out loud, knowing what she was going to do next. His suspicions were deemed correct as tears began to accumulate in the girl’s emerald eyes. “Esmeralda,” he said sternly, kneeling before her and grasping her shoulders firmly but not harshly. “We cannot go see the baby goats today. Not after what happened the last time.”_

_“I said I was sorry,” she whimpered in response, avoiding his stern gaze at that point as she stared at her bare feet, fining them particularly interesting than the older boy at the moment._

_“You disobeyed me. And it nearly costs us both of our lives. Common sense, chérie. I know you have it. Use it every now and then. And for the final time. We. Are. Not. Going. Understood?” He tilted her chin up so she would meet his dark yet caring gaze._

_“But Clopiiiiiin,” she whined again. “They miss me.”_

_He couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer cuteness she held. “And how do you know that, chérie?”_

_“I just do,” she shrugged in response, giggling when he picked her up_

_“Esmeralda, you know what you did was dangerous, right?” She nodded. “And you know it could have hurt us?” Another nod. He sighed, beginning to unravel once again. “Mon Dieu… Do you promise not to do it again?”_

_She nodded frantically that time around, hope rising to which he couldn’t refuse. “Let’s go then,” he smiled. He slung her onto his back, holding her steady as he began to carry her towards the edge of town._

_The Gypsy King slowed his step as he reached the small pen, allowing her to get off his back. The four year old zingara hurried to where the goats were, several playing, some resting and others running up to greet her. She giggled happily, climbing over the fence. She glanced over to Clopin, not being able to climb up anymore. “Tired already?” He grinned, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched her in amusement._

_She said nothing and ran into his arms. He picked her up and settled her down on the other side of the pen. He watched her the whole morning and well into the afternoon as she played with the goats, seemingly in Heaven._

_He heard the familiar sound of hooves. “Esmeralda. Come with me. Now,” he said sternly, leaving no room for whining or arguing. She ran over to him and he gathered her back up._

_“Well, well. What do we have here?” Came in the cruel voice of the dread Minister himself. “Stolen goods?” He inquired and glanced at the pen. “Or stolen goats?”_

_Clopin held onto the girl, shielding her away from the menacing horse and the matching judge. He said nothing, beginning to back away. “Guards. Arrest both of them!” He demanded to the two on their own horses._

_The Gypsy King didn’t think twice, taking off with Esmeralda held tightly within his arms. She looked confused, terrified so much that it broke Clopin’s heart to see the girl so distressed. “He won’t touch you. I promise you, chérie. Just hold onto me,” he panted as he ran, the hooves becoming more distinct every passing moment._

_He didn’t have time to comprehend what exactly was happening as he was ripped out of his grip. All he heard was a shrill shriek of fear before muffled cries. His arms were pinned behind his back and tied together by a guard. He felt his whole body grow rigid out of fear when he saw her motionless in the guard’s arms. “Connard! Bâtard!” He spat at them. “What the Hell did you do?!”_

_“Shut him up,” Claude spoke calmly. A sound of steel coming out of the sheath was all he heard and Claude getting off his horse and holding Esmeralda was the last thing he saw before his whole world went black.  
        The first thing he was aware of were the heavy shackles placed on his wrists, keeping him against the wall. The other was his hunger, causing him great discomfort. Then was the notice of blood rolling down the side of his head. _

_Once he fully came to his senses, he looked around the dingy cell, trying desperately to see in the dark room. He saw nothing, his head throbbing from the blow. “Esmeralda,” was all he could mutter. “Esmeralda!” He called out, standing quickly. “Where is she?!” He demanded to the guard._

_The guard remained silent, frustrating the Gypsy King. He looked out the cell, seeing several other gypsies waiting. Waiting to be released, saved, killed. Waiting to see other gypsies come and go or an opportunity to escape. They didn’t know what they were waiting for. They were just waiting._

_And Clopin joined them. Sitting in the corner of the cell, curling up into a small ball, taking out his small puppet. He stared at it, remembering when he first showed her. She had been merely an infant. He remembered when she grabbed it and gnawed on the puppet. He had a rather difficult time trying to save his small friends from an untimely demise._

_He turned the puppet over, seeing a rip in the seam. He smiled slightly, remembering fondly as he tried to rip the puppet out of her hands. Well, not rip but take without her growing upset. He had to make a separate puppet for her and he wasn’t sure if she still had it or lost it. She better not have for he spent forever trying to make an exact replica of the puppet._

_The gypsy remained there, now just like all the other Romanians. He wasn’t sure how long he was imprisoned for there was no window to indicate the time and he couldn’t hear the bells of Notre-Dame. He scoffed to himself a few weeks later, staring at the stale piece of bread and a single cup of water. It was a better meal than what he could get on a daily basis. It may not exactly be appetizing or particularly filling but he would take what he could get._

_He absentmindedly ate, wondering where Esmeralda could be. He constantly worried day and night about her, wondering, hoping, worrying._

_He heard the soft pitter patter of bare feet hitting the stone floor, waking him in the middle of the night two weeks later. Or he thought it was two weeks. “Esmeralda!” He gasped out happily, kneeling down so he was now eye level with her. “Do you have the key?” Was the first thing he asked, causing him to grimace in disbelief. That was such a selfish thing to ask._

_She nodded and grunted, too short to reach the keyhole. She whimpered in frustration and he smiled at her struggle. It was too adorable not to. He reached through the bars, picking her up. She giggled and unlocked the cell door. It swung open and he set her down, exiting the cell before picking her up again, holding her close and running off with the four year old._

_“Now where exactly are you headed off to so early? You have been wonderful guests. It would be a shame if you had to leave so quickly,” Frollo called out, guards surrounding the two gypsies to which, Clopin held the four year old closer, attempting to calm her with no avail._

_“Clopin, make them go away,” she whimpered into his neck. “Make them go away! Clopin!” She pleaded, crying._

_“Shh, ma chérie, it’ll be alright. It’ll be alright,” he kept whispering to her._

_“Sweet,” Claude smirked and two guards walked over. “Such a shame you have to lie to the child. Lying is a sin and sins must be punished. Bring him to the gallows,” he said sternly to the guards._

_The two took hold of Clopin, another grabbing Esmeralda. “Damn it! Let her go! She has done nothing! We have done nothing!”_

_He was pulled along, brought up to the gallows. The guard holding Esmeralda followed and she looked up at the scene through teary emerald eyes. “What are they doing?” She sniffled as the noose was placed around his neck. “Clopin! What are they doing?!” She jumped out of the man’s arms and ran up to him. Claude raised a hand, telling the guard to let her continue._

_She ran up, clutching onto Clopin’s leg silently. She cried into the purple fabric, trembling. “Clopin, what are they doing?” She whimpered once again._

_“Not this way. Please, God, not this way,” Clopin silently prayed to whatever high power there was for Esmeralda not to find out about death this way. While he would happily die to save her life, he doubted that her life would be spared after he was killed. Even if she was let go, she would have no where to go and for forever, she would have his death, the one who took care of her for four years, the only one she trusted enough, implanted in her mind. Tt would torment her and forever scar her._

_She didn’t deserve that so he bargained. “Wait!” He called out, catching the attention of the basted of a minister. “You may kill me but take her away. Do not let her see. Please, I beg you.”_

_At this plead, Claude’s smile grew greatly. “Kill him,” he directed simply to the executor. The floor gave way to the Gypsy King and the rope pulled tight. His body was taken out of the noose and laid down on the ground._

_The young gypsy ran to him, kneeling next to him. “Clopin?” She shook him, trying to get him to open his eyes. “Wake up, Clopin. We can go home. Stop sleeping…” She whimpered, shaking him harder. “Clopin?”  
        “Get the girl,” Claude growled to the executor. _

_“Clopin!” She yelled as she was picked up. “Clopin! Wake up! Clopin! Let go of me!” Tears ran down her cheeks quickly as she breathed heavily, confused and scared. She struggled to get out of the man’s grip as he took out a dagger. “Clopin! Help me! Please! Wake up! I’m scared! Wake up!”_

_The grip around her tightened, making it impossible to move, nonetheless, escape. “Clopin…” She whimpered. Blade dug into flesh and a scream of pain, erupted through the air. The young girl, grunted as she was thrown on the ground next to Clopin. “Wake up….” She whispered in pain. She curled up into his side, blood pooling around her. “Wake up… I wanna go home,” she cried pitifully in his neck. “Clopin…” She mumbled as fatigue started to wash over her. “I wanna go home… I want… I want to go home… Clopin,” she closed her eyes and fell limp at that, her breath ceasing as her heart stopped. She became limp just like Clopin._

He awoke with a gasp, looking around. “Esmeralda!” He called out, having yet to remember that she wasn’t there. He collapsed against the cot, staring at the purple tent that only belonged to her. It had once been his but since she arrived in the Court, she had all but taken over. Not that he minded of course. He would do anything to make her happy.

        He groaned, grabbing onto the nearest thing with just happened to be her demon goat. The goat bleated as his tail was grabbed, startling Clopin, causing him to scream in return and Djali to bleat loudly in surprise. “Mon Dieu,” he mumbled, holding his head in his hands. He huffed and stood, grabbing his hat with the feather.

        He exited the Court of Miracles, not minding the bitter coldness as it hit him. The snow fell heavily, giving Clopin the smallest thing to be thankful for. Esmeralda was at least warm in the Palace of Justice or so he hopes.

        Obviously, the minister would be warm and comfortable in the palace and the Gypsy King highly doubted that he would go out of his way and make the entire palace cold just to teach Esmeralda a lesson. Perhaps he put her in the dungeons instead. He mentally scolded himself for going to the worse case scenario. He didn’t need yet something else to add to the horribly long list of things that could be happening to her at that moment.

        He heard a bleat and turned back to the goat who was trotting after him. “Go. Shoo, you little-.” He went to curse him off in French but stopped, only then realizing where he led himself to. The large palace towered over him as he took a few tentative steps forward.

        The Gypsy King glanced around, searching for any signs of guards to which he doubted were present. Frollo did need more loyal subjects.

        Placing a gloved hand on the large door, he hesitated to open it in fear of making too much noise that would alert anyone of his arrival. However, the fear was masked with concern for Esmeralda’s safety. Taking a deep breath, he continued inside, staring at the long, dark hallway that he saw only once before. Dread piled in his stomach much like it did for every gypsy who dare set foot in it, forced to or not.

        He took no time to admire the sheer brilliance of it all as he headed up to the second floor, his eyes scanning each door, trying to find out which was where she resided. He tried all of them and each came up unlocked.

        The Gypsy King was careful to open them slowly just so he could look around without getting caught. The strategy paid off as he arrived at a room that no gypsy in their right mind would walk into. His office. He was working quickly, his brows furrowed as though he was in deep thought and he looked annoyed. That was an understatement..

        He silently closed the door once more, cringing at the small click of it as it shut completely, praying to God that he didn’t hear it. He lingered only for a few seconds, waiting and expecting for something that did not arrive. Releasing the breath he had been holding, he eventually made his way to the final room which he knew she had to be in.

        Clopin turned the knob but it didn’t turn all the way, merely halting once it reached halfway. He had more common sense than to call her name. Not only would that risk being caught by guards or other servants, it may bring the unwanted attention of the minister. While he did wish to give him a piece of his mind, he had no death wish. At least, not at the moment and the fact that Esmeralda may take the blame over some barbaric accusation was not what she needed at the moment. She needed help, not more oxygen to the fire.

        He waited a while, contemplating. He released a breath before calling out through the closed door. “Esmeralda.” He could barely make his voice audible, nonetheless, heard by the gypsy on the other side. He called out louder, certain that she could hear him. “Please, answer me, chérie!  I’m here to help you.”

        Several hesitant and fearful moments came and went before he eventually heard shuffling within the room. He let out a gasp of relief. “Esmeralda!”

        “Clopin,” he heard her call out within the room. “Clopin, you can’t be here! You’ll get caught and…I can’t lose you,” she pleaded, her voice breaking. “Clopin, just leave.”   
        “I can’t just leave you in the hands of that monster. I’ll get you out, ma chérie. I promise.”

        “Do not make promises that you have no intention of keeping,” rang an all too familiar voice from behind the Gypsy King.

        His head whipped back to him, his dark eyes meeting the mocking gaze of the minister. “I intend to keep it. You can’t and won’t keep her hostage.”

        He merely smirked in response, the guards finally showing and grabbing Clopin, shoving him to his knees, holding him still. He struggled soundly and there was a quick knocking, banging against the door, the Gypsy Queen’s trembling voice calling out to Clopin, begging for him to stay quiet and relent.

        Once he listened, Claude towered over him, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You will be hanged,” he said summarily, speaking loud enough for the gypsy locked in the room to hear.

        Clopin’s blood ran cold at that along with Esmeralda’s, both of their hearts stopping in fear for the same, yet different reasons.

        Esmeralda couldn’t lose him, especially if it was her fault. “No,” she rasped out. “No! You can’t! You can’t kill him!” It was mostly certain whenever someone was sentenced to death. There was almost no way for them to escape it. Almost.

        The imprisoned gypsy bit her lower lip, dreading what she was about to offer. “Spare his life!” She called out once more, “and you will get something in return… I’ll,” she cursed herself for not thinking of something better. “I’ll submit to you. I’ll do whatever you want. I swear it.”

        Claude raised his hand silently, gesturing to the guards to cease them escorting Clopin to the dungeons. He took out a key from his pockets within his robes where her shawl had resided before he burned it. He unlocked the door, opening it. A guard stepped forward, blocking the only space opened to which she might have a small, less than a fraction of a chance of escaping.

        Esmeralda left the room, her gaze meeting Clopin’s. He worriedly searched over her skin and features, trying to find any marks or signs of abuse. His shoulders and posture shagged with relief when he found no visible abuse but he had to worry what might happen in the near or far future. He had not a single clue of the wound wrapped tightly beneath her white dress.

        Claude seemed to pay no mind to Clopin, his gaze resting on her. He stepped forward, placing a cold hand beneath her chin and lifting it to which the Gypsy King snarled in protest at the interaction. Claude met her emerald gaze, fascinated at how they shined so brightly, practically blazing with fury and fear. The two emotions intermingled and he smirked at how strong those emotions were. They added a brilliant gleam to those already breathtaking emerald eyes.

        “You will do whatever I wish without protest?” He asked, his free hand now threading his fingers through her raven curls. “Whatever I wish?” he repeated, pulling her head back up forcefully when her gaze deviated away from him. She let out a hiss of pain, a soft whimper escaping the back of her throat at the quick action.

        Clopin growled and struggled against the guards’ grips, wanting nothing more than to beat the living daylights out of the minister. The sharp glare she threw at him caused him to stop writhing and to become still. His angry glare towards the judge did not cease or permeate but neither took notice, consumed within their glares directed to each other.

        “I will do whatever you wish,” she confirmed. “Just let him leave alive and I will do whatever. I will squirm under you, moan at your command. I. Will. Do. Whatever. You. Wish.”

        He smiled, content with that before turning to the two guards. “Release him. Let him leave. But if he shows his face even on the foot of the steps on the Palace of Justice, do not hesitate to kill him on the spot. Understood? Escort him out. No harm is to come to him.” He watched as they left, Esmeralda watching along with him. Once he was gone, the minister turned, grabbing her and pulling her into the bedroom, slamming the door shut and closed.

        His lips twisted into a snarl when his granite gaze bored into her emerald eyes, confusing her from the drastic mood change. She had done nothing wrong and what he wanted, she was practically feeding to him from the palm of her hand.

        After not being able to take the confusion anymore, she finally relented. “What?” She yelled, exasperated, confused. “I’m giving you what you want! You don’t have to fight for it. I won’t struggle. I’m giving you what you want!”

        “How’d he get here?” He demanded horribly calm, causing her blood to run cold.

        “What?”

        “How’d he get here? How’d he get past the guards?! How’d he get past me? How did he know which room you were in?!”

        “I-,” she began but stopped, truly not knowing the answers herself. “I don’t know.”

        “Bullshit,” he responded. “The truth, gypsy. Did you perform witchcraft to send him a message? A cry of help perhaps?” With every word, he seemed to be losing his self-control, his sanity slipping, his granite eyes blazing with such a fury that it chilled her to her very core.

        “I’m not a witch,” she stated simply. “There was no witchcraft, only luck. Perhaps even an answer to my prayers,” she smirked, knowing that she hit a nerve at how all of his features darkened and his lips formed a scowl so bitter and evil that it would send even the bravest man running for the hills.

        She realized her mistake too late, her back colliding painfully with the wall, sending a wave of pain through her. She never once took the time to perceive how strong the minister was, causing her to become reckless. She had quite a tendency to do so but she was usually able to get away, perhaps lucky, she had tricks galore but it appeared that both her lucks and tricks had ran out, leaving her almost defenseless. Almost. She had her wits and her strength, determination and her unwillingness to give up. She had hoped it will help her prosper towards the end. But that left her wondering… How long until the end?

        She ripped herself out of his grip with great difficulty and it was only made possible when he released his grip only if slightly. It was enough.

        “It was witchcraft. Admit it,” he hissed. She merely glared at him in response, having no wishes to provoke him anymore.

        “No, it wasn’t,” she growled when he waited for an answer.

        “There’s no other explanation as to why or how he’s here! Gypsy, I will not be lied to!”

        ‘If I could use witchcraft,” she began bitterly, “I would use it to disappear out of this dreaded palace. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to get someone to come and risk their life to save me.”

        “It doesn’t matter,” Claude approached her, his fingers curling around her upper arms as he held her firmly in place. She didn’t flinch, watching him closely as he leaned in, his mouth to her ear, his breath sending unwanted shivers up and down her spine much to Claude’s amusement. “Listen here, gypsy wench. He got away because of how merciful I am and because you offered an irresistible deal. But if you call him again with whatever you’re using, I will kill him or anyone else on the spot.”

        “I. Did. Not. Do. Anything!” She growled, her eyes darkening with anger and frustration. “I don’t perform witchcraft!”

        “Shut you mouth. I’m tired of your senseless babbling, whore.”

        She merely glanced at him, annoyed at the demand. “What do you even want from me?” She slowly backed away, trying to find any means of escape. At that point, she wished she did have witchcraft. She wished all the gypsies that were wrongly accused actually had it for then they would be able to live peacefully, to have a normal life and not live in fear from the invidious minister. If only.

        Her thoughts were cut off by the sudden grasp of her shoulders he had on her. “You promised me to do whatever I want you to. Let’s not make a liar out of you now,” he hissed nefariously, pressing her against the wall, the insatiable thirst flowing through him, the lust overt in his blazing eyes. He pressed his own body on hers and she shuddered in disgust at the sudden hardness pressed upon her inner thigh. She struggled against him with what little strength she had compared to him. “Let’s not make a liar out of you. At least, not a worse liar than what you already are, now shall we?” He smirked cruelly.

        She belabored against him, the propinquity he had nettled and disgusted her as she continued to fight and struggle.

        He managed to still her, causing her to struggle more or attempt to but with no avail, leaving her practically helpless, caught, a fly in a spider’s web. His web. “Don’t struggle,” he whispered in her ear, tightening his hold around her waist. She whimpered in fear. She was feckless against him, trembling in his hold, fear an unwanted emotion so pure in her emerald eyes.

        The submissiveness that she displayed merely fed the judge’s hunger and lust in his own eyes. He smiled cruelly, inhaling her scent, causing a shudder of disgust to roll through her. He began to talk absentmindedly, not truly realizing what he was saying but continued to mindlessly babble. She shut her eyes as he whispered lowly in her ear, occasionally placing soft and gentle yet ferocious kisses upon her sun-kissed skin.

        “Beautiful,” he breathed, pressing her more against the wall. It was to the point of discomfort, her chest pressed down, the hardness against her thigh merely growing. “I can’t wait until I can claim you as mine, take you as mine. No one else will take you after, especially not your Sun God. You will beg for me to take you,” he sighed in content, slowly, yet surely, letting his guard down, not realizing it as he revealed his deepest desires, fantasies. “You will be underneath me each night. You’ll be waiting in my room, wearing nothing but the sheets and you will beckon me to come closer to which I’ll happily comply to. You’ll beg me to take you, beg me to make you moan, for me to make you plead my name. Then you will press against me, pull me close to you and kiss me until we’re both breathless, panting, sweating, needing more.” The man sighed in content with the thought, his own form quivering against hers, bead of sweat rolling down his body, his arousal growing with every struggle that she present, every second that she refused to relent. “You will be mine.

        “It will be that way every night. You will be submissive to me, let me take you as mine and mine alone. You will not stop me, nor think of stopping me. You will eventually want me, need me as yours for I am your water for your dry throat; your oasis to the scorching desert…” He breathed in her scent once more, smiling in satisfaction when she became still. He backed away only slightly to see her expression. She appeared revolted and he let her go to which she ran out of his arms. She didn’t even manage to take a few steps before she fell to her knees and took the similar position as the other night, attempting to heave up any food that may be there in her stomach. She dipped her head, her hair flowing down, creating a dark curtain around her face. It plastered to her neck, sweat rolling down her neck.

        Claude watched the scene, not knowing how to react. He wanted to comfort her, pull her close and help her but he was, after all, the mere reason she got sick. As this though finally made it to him, his eyes darkened with bitter anger at her reaction. He was offended.

        He was pulled away from his thoughts, snapped back into reality when a painful cry filled the air. With celerity that he did not realize he possessed, he was by her side within an instant, attempting to find out what caused the distressful cry.

        His eyes fell upon her face, watching as it contorted into a painful grimace. It was then he took notice of what she was clutching to. Her side. The wound. Through the series of events, how quick they had unfolded throughout the day, he merely forgot about her attempt of taking her own life instead of dying at his hand. Another surge of anger made its presence within him. He found no disgust in the disarray of emotions inside him. They ranged from anger, jealousy and bitter resentment but never disgust. At least, not towards himself but rather towards her.

        At that point, he felt no need to console her, nor help her with the pain presented and the growing agony evincing upon her features. No. Let her suffer. She deserved it if she was daft enough to be disgusted with him but not to that ex Captain of the Guard who resided within the dungeon walls of the Palace of Justice.

        “You deserve this,” he began, watching her every tremble, every quiver, shake. “You deserve the pain. This will shape you, gypsy. You deserve this.” He knelt beside her, grabbing her arm, yanking her close, causing another whimper to escape her. He started to speak in her ear, enjoying the trembles against him. “You deserve it,” he reiterated. “God is punishing you for your sin, you unholy witch.”

        At that, her emerald eyes snapped open and she shoved herself away from him, the act merely worsening her wound. “I deserve it?” She demanded, her eyes ablaze with anger. She stood or at least attempted to. She spoke bitterly, each word mordant, cutting into Claude. “I suppose you think I deserved to be burned at the stake as well, huh?” She hissed. “No, I already know the answer, bastard. You see yourself as a holy man, a man who everyone should worship, should look to for guidance. A man who can do no wrong in his own eyes, who is pure, sinless compared to others.

        “But to me… You are not a man. You are not of this Earth for no one, no one! is capable of what you are capable of. You kill without shame, without thoughts, only your twisted mind telling you what you did is in fact correct. You believe you are saving souls, offering them salvation but killing them when they refuse. You see yourself as a follower of the Good Book, a man who abides by God and His laws. But you are not that. You… You are a monster. A demon. You will not be sent to Heaven nor will you be casted in Hell. One would need a soul for that and you lack it. You have no soul. Lust, envy, hatred, everything that the Good Book teaches, you go against. You… You are deserving of the pain…” Her voice became weak and she eventually trailed off, no longer capable of uttering anything more.

        She dipped her head, exhausted. She knew she had not only went against him but his soul. His eternal soul and she didn’t know what the consequences would be. But once she did, she knew she made a mistake.

        Strong, cold, cruel and nefarious hands grabbed her with such celerity, she barely had any mind to keep up. She met his gaze with fearful eyes, the sheer anger overt in his own animalistic gaze. He was no longer a man. What she saw terrified her and she felt her legs give out, her entire body becoming frozen as she became numb with fear. She felt her entire frame being slammed into the wall. She shuddered and a dull pain erupted behind the back of her head.

        “You have not a clue about what you are talking about,” he growled, his eyes ablaze. “You will not mention matters to which you cannot comprehend! Or the Lord Himself shall grant me, I will bring you very soul to the Gates of Hell! It is not I, my dear,” he continued his voice growing calm.

        Her blood became cold and she shuddered at the harsh gaze upon her, boring seemingly into her very soul. She felt exposed and she had no way to protect, cover herself. It was at that single moment where she knew that she was entirely at his mercy. If he wishes, he could take her life. He was above the law in Paris. He could claim her if he wanted, get what he desired and once he had no use any longer from her, he could kill her, end her life. And she found not a worse way to die.

        He kept his foreboding grip upon her, not loosening it but merely tightening, causing a blinding pain to spread throughout her arms. She had not even the slightest idea on how much strength he possessed. She felt her arms become numb as he quickly out off the circulation. Not having a moment to regain her wits, she was shoved to the floor. Fortunately, she landed upon her uninjured side that lacked the healing injury.

        Frollo approached her, blinded by rage and the humiliation of his own soul being judged by a gypsy. A gypsy no less. He paid no mind to the injury, colliding his foot to that side, causing her to cry out, hot pain souring throughout her entire left side. She shook from the pain, the tear pooling up and she had no will to hide them, allowing them to fall.

        Kneeling down quickly, he grabbed her by the collar of the plain dress she wore. One that was provided to her by him. “I showed you mercy, you insolent whore! I showed you the goodness the Lord shows! I’ve shown that I care about you, you witch! I showed it to you! You ignored it all! Now, my temper and patience have both reached their end!” He threw her to the ground once again to which she curled away, her back facing him.

        Observing her in such a weak, such a submissive state sent a shiver of arousal to flow through him, causing him to shudder pleasantly. As he observed her, watched her, he smiled when he knew she couldn’t fight. She will be his.

        That was what he would take advantage of. Her pain that would leave her defenseless. But he also knew how defiant she was and the fight she would most likely put up despite the pain that may occur. He sincerely doubted if she would just give up. Whatever part of her that wasn’t filled with pain, she would use to her advantage and use that to struggle and fight.

        One would think upon one look at her, that she would be broken, with no strength, no will to fight against Claude. But they would be proven wrong. And Claude was, if not, still is, the first person, the one to have the most doubt within him about her.

        He watched her attempts that proved to be pejorative as she writhed on the floor in hopes to ease the pain and perhaps attempt to get back up standing. He knelt down next to her, slowly, deliberately, taking his time and seeing, observing every little movement, as though taunting her. A hawk that is waiting for a mouse, having spotted it, and ready to strike. The hawk would act fast, taking the small rodent by surprise. The judge was the same except for one major difference towards that of the winged bird. He had no intention to kill. Weaken to the point of submission, of course, even willing to injure her as he just did but to kill? No. She held him in the palm of her hand. He was certain of it and now he knew that she was willing to give herself to him in exchange for her life and her peoples… The idea brought a sadistic smirk to his thin, cold lips.

        Frollo placed a hand on her side, in close proximity to the laceration yet not fully touching it. He felt the warmth of the rich blood on his fingers, creating a sticky layer to them. He grimaced when he realized the slight closing of the wound, the progress had been undone entirely.

        “Don’t fucking touch me,” the bronze skinned girl hissed at him. “Don’t you fucking dare. I told you to which you agreed to. You touch me only with my consent,” she snarled through the pain, her silk voice raspy as she spoke.

        “Quite a brazen mouth you have, gypsy,” Claude spoke, the glint in his eyes merely growing, spurring more in the moment. The anger laced with fear was enough to arouse him more, for his pants to grow overbearingly tight, pressing against his crotch.

        He groaned and seemed to forget about the situation as her words washed over him again and again. “But,” he continued, “you don not know how to control it. You are to speak only when spoken to, do you understand?”

        He need not a verbal answer for the shine in her eyes that came within a matter of less than a second gave him the evidence of understanding that he required. “You said that I will not touch you without consent. Consent implies sinful, sexual, inappropriate touching, does it not or I have merely misinterpreted the definition? Have I? The one who has spent his whole life studying alchemy, science, literature, religion, wrong, as to the mere young gypsy, barely that of age, who dances in the streets for coins and unable to read but a single word whether it be French, Latin, Italian or even your cursed language?”      

        The lack of response gave him the answer. He had caught her once more in his net and he will begin to spin before she could escape again.

        The minister knelt down, seeing that her strength was once again returning to her. He placed a gentle finger beneath her chin, his pejorative gaze indicating that he was about to scold her. Similar to what a father would do to a child. There was no worse humiliation that he could give her or so she thought. When he spoke, it was calm and steady, his voice almost soothing. “You will not go against my wishes. You will not speak. Make it a habit. You will only use that mouth, that beautiful mouth,” he ran his thin thumb over her bottom lip, “to answer my questions. You will not speak out of place. If you do, I will see through to the punishment you shall receive myself. Do you understand?”

        She wanted to retort, to voice her animadversion, to scream out her unwillingness, how she was more than her body, her name that everyone gave her. But out of fear, all she found within herself was a mute nod in silent agreement much to her disdain.

        Claude took notice of the helplessness within her gaze. He had not threatened her people. Well, not aloud but it was clear to both him and her that her agreement to such a ludicrous demand was, in fact, through the knowledge of his capability. Had he not murdered so many gypsies out of sheer hatred, she would not have complied.

        Taking in this newfound knowledge, he knew that he could take advantage of it entirely. She was entirely at his mercy. If she wished her to people to remain unharmed, he would keep it so but, of course, not without something in return.

        He moved swiftly, pulling up the gypsy and pushing her onto the bed with such great celerity that she could barely make out what had occurred. Taking advantage of her dazed state, he grasped her shoulders, pinning her to the bed. He knew that the position would be uncomfortable, very much so with addition of the wound on her side that was bleeding too much for his liking. ‘Nevermind that. I’ve waited much too long for this.’

        He was quick to rip off her plain dress, now soaked with the liquid escaping her. She had not a hope to cover herself up for he immediately grasped her wrists, pinning them above her head. She trembled beneath him, her emerald orbs closing when she became aware over what was occurring.

        His gray hairs were disheveled, falling out of place, sweat rolling down his face, a hungry gaze in his frenetic eyes that went up and down the length of her body. The knowledge of the sheer helplessness she held sickened her to the very depths of her core.

        The strength he possessed merely proved to her the lack of hers. She was weak, hungry, defenseless against him. “Tell me,” he snarled in her ear, his voice not belonging to any man on Earth. “How many men have claimed you?”

        She said nothing, not finding it within herself to respond. He grasped her head with the free hand, turning it so she was forced to meet his gaze. “Answer. Me.”

        “N-none,” she stammered, speaking with great uncertainty despite the fact that it was indeed the truth but his gaze, his look that bored into her soul made her doubt herself severely.

        “None? None at all? Well, that simply cannot be,” he mumbled into her ear, his voice calm, one hand pinning her wrists down while the other hungrily explored her body, causing shivers of disgust to roll through the young gypsy.

        She wanted to call for help, beg for mercy. At those moments, she merely wished that she had succeeded in her attempt at killing herself. She would rather be dead than live through what was unraveling before her.

        As he worked, he temporized truly touching her. His hand glided along her bronze skin, merely hovering but not touching. She found no pleasure in his sick game. He was just taking his time, stalling and not hiding anything.

        Merely seconds had passed but it was much too long for the Gypsy Queen. She let out a heavy breath when she felt the pressure of his body off her. She laid on the bed, attempting to think through the excruciating pain. She tried to sit up but was merely shoved back down in response. “Don’t move, gypsy whore,” Frollo hissed. The mere tone of his voice held her in place and he smirked, running a cold hand through her raven hair at her quick yet reluctant submission to him. “Good girl,” he chortled darkly.

        She heard a heavy material fall to the floor and she was almost certain she knew what it was. Two lighter pieces of clothing followed and she felt the bed sink underneath the weight of the minister.

        He resumed his position. She dared to open her eyes, watching in cold fear as he took each of his three rings off. One by one. He set them silently down on the nightstand before returning to Esmeralda.

        She allowed her emerald eyes to move down his unclothed body in mere curiosity. She was surprised. He was nowhere as frail as she had once perceived him to be, his robes merely deceiving to the eye. True, he was not nearly as muscular as Captain Phoebus but he did hold the strength.

        He took notice of her gaze that traveled along him, a sinister smirk forming. “Like what you see?” He inquired in her ear.

        She immediately shook her head. “Surprised,” she whimpered out. “Disgusted,” she admitted.

        At that, Frollo took ahold of her, a hand latched around her neck and an arm wrapping around her lower back. She cried out in pain at the abrupt moments. She had offended him and if she wasn’t imprisoned, she would have taken great pride in such an achievement.

        He was quick within his actions, his hand moving away from her neck and now fully touching every inch of her bronze skin, stroking, groping, caressing. He moved, digging his knee into her stomach, causing a small gasp to emit from her. He unwound his arm and moved both hands to her full breasts, his head moving down upon it, breathing over her erect buds. He hastily wrapped his lips around it, snatching on. He moved his tongue, tasting her, feeling it grow more erect, satisfying him.

        Moving a hand to her other breast, he pulled and tugged, eliciting pained gasps from her to which he merely blocked out, unfazed.

        His free hand trailed down her stomach to her lower regions before he used two fingers to open her lips, his thumb grazing over her clit. He moaned of the feeling of the tending flesh there before running his hand down the length of her slit. It was dry, barely trembling but being unexperienced with a woman, he merely thought it was normal.

        He wasted not a second, fully erect at this point. He heard a faint cry of protest as he lined himself up with her entrance, his manhood throbbing with anticipation at what he was about to accomplish. His granite gaze met her teary one that swam with fear. “Don’t do this,” was all she managed to choke out. “I beg of you.” A single tear fell that was quickly followed with many others but as Frollo stared at her, he felt no remorse, pity, or sorrow. Only lust.

        He entered her before she had time to react and he moaned loudly as she engulfed him entirely. The moan wiped out the scream of pain, his pleasure that spread throughout his shuddering body engulfing him as he moved, thrusting his hips to elicit pure pleasure from the screaming gypsy before him.

        Rapture came easily for him and he was done within minutes. At that point, Esmeralda’s voice had disappeared and only tears escaped with quiet whimpers here and there. She was shaking horribly and only did Claude look down was when he realized that what she said was true, blood steadily rolling from in between her legs. Rather than be disgusted, he felt great pride into being her first. He moved over to her ear, whispering three words. “You are mine.”

        He exited her with that but not without another set of moans from the movement. She merely grimaced and collapsed, panting, pain coursing through her body, the main points from her side and lower regions. He pulled on his clothes and rings, ordering the doctor to check on her before he headed to his own room for the night.

        The Gypsy Queen was left alone with her thoughts. At this point, she wasn’t an outcast. An outcast had freedom, something she desperately longed for at the moment. She would rather be homeless, be an outcast, starving on the streets for they had what she now lacked. Dignity and freedom.

 

       

          

 


End file.
